


How Al met Loki

by thiefofbluefire



Series: Overwatch Hub [11]
Category: Crysis Series (Video Games), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, How Do I Tag, Hunters & Hunting, Isolation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefofbluefire/pseuds/thiefofbluefire
Summary: Welcome to the future son...War's over.





	How Al met Loki

"Closer. Just a little more.  
Come on little fella, it'll only hurt if you make me miss."

Negative_  
Threat is at minimum_  
2 meters tall_  
Processing_

"It's also wearing a deer's skin."

Negative_  
Juvenile Minnesota moose_  
Approximately 475 pounds/ 21.54562 kilograms_  
Species listed on endangered chart_  
Status: deceased_

"Died starving and got skinned by a mad omnic.  
Guess nothing's sacred anymore."

Affirmative_  
Processing complete_  
Target assessment complete_  
...  
Guiding system_

The awkward, obtuse angle of the possessed omnics head provided a clear enough view of its spinal cord and the internal workings of the shoulder mechanism. Dried blood and sinew was clogging up the gears, causing the kind of stiff but still spontaneous movement commonly associated with a zombie.

Prophet figured that calling this thing a zombie was accurate enough, though 'skinwalker' also fit.  
Either way, sitting in the tree where he was, Prophet had a clear shot.

The omnic stepped into the trap hole that Prophet had dug an hour ago, halting its stride. The armored hunter pulled back the arrow to his chin, and fired.

The projectile struck true, sticking out of the hole in the shoulder as the omnic spasmed in simulated pain before unceremoniously falling to the forest floor.

Target eliminated_  
Objective Complete_

Prophet let out a short breath and disabled cloak mode. He rolled out his stiff shoulder and flicked a few pine needles off as he watched the energy meter recharge. It had been a long weekend.

When the meter was full, he folded up the predator bow and clamped it to his hip. Prophet then braced his arms against the tree branch he was crouching on. He swung his legs over the edge and pushed off, activating armor mode before he hit the ground.  
With the dry season in full swing, the ground felt like concrete on the landing. Prophet grunted as the pine needles crunched under his boots as he got up. Shaking out his feet, he strode over to the fallen omnic. Disgust registered in the suit system at the moose skin that covered the omnics torso.  
Poor thing. Though Ceph never figured that organic life was good for anything except warmth.

Prophet bent down and pried open the chest cavity, making sure it was dead before popping off the head.  
It was a vaguely humanoid omnic, probably a household unit. If the friendly shapes of the eyes were anything to go by, it might've even been a nanny.

'Sure, a two meter tall nanny, watching over someone's family.'

He felt a foreign prickle of uneasiness at the thought.

Blinking, he set the head down and rubbed the back of his neck tenderly.  
There was a fragment of the conscience of Ceph inside the suit, Prophet knew that. He was the one who put it there in the first place. It was a tiny piece. Harmless. Never did much except growl or purr and cause heat flashes in the nanosuit. It also dreamed occasionally; mainly images of the next omnic that the other pieces of Ceph were looking to posses.

It made tracking them easier.

Point is, Ceph never felt uneasy. Never did this sort of thing before.

The sensation flitted through his arm and twisted around the diaphragm. He cleared his throat and wet his lips under his mask, frowning.

A low beeping coming from his earpiece made him jump, grabbing the predator bow off his leg, preparing to fire.

Incoming Message_

Prophet blinked.

Incoming Message_

Then he sighed, annoyed.

"Open message." He ordered, putting the bow back.

Acknowledged_  
Message Text_

Hey, if you're done playing man v wild over there, I was wondering if you would be up for a night on the town? Price and I are getting everyone together for pints in Kings Row.  
Care to join us Boss?

\-- Michael

Wasn't the first time that Psycho had invited him. Probably won't be the last.  
Still... This infected omnic had evaded him for six days. Which wasn't a long measure in hindsight, but tracking it down had been more tedious than initially predicted. Impeccable timing on Psycho's part to send the message now when Prophet was worn out and, frankly, feeling like he needed a drink.  
Beers with Psycho, Dane, O'Neil and Price didn't sound half bad. No, not bad at all.  
Maybe... Just maybe.

'pisswater'

Oh.

"Alcatraz?" Laurence blinked as the discomfort from earlier laced back around his torso with a vice grip. He sucked in a breath through his teeth (not Your teeth, dead man) and shook his head.

"S.E.C.O.N.D., run diagnostics." He ordered, rubbing his neck again.

Acknowledged_

"What is wrong with you? Why are you awake, Marine?"

Alcatraz gave no real response, not that he ever really did that kind of thing. Still, the awkward feeling of his lungs getting squeezed was freaking Laurence out quite a bit.

S.E.C.O.N.D. chimed back in after another moment.

Subject; Rodriguez. Alcatraz. James_  
Status: inactive. Last active; 25 seconds_

"That doesn't answer why he was active at all."

No data available_

With a sigh, the tension started to bleed from Prophets shoulders. Maybe being so close to civilization for once was stirring the unconscious Marine. Hell if Laurence knew.

Still, if nothing else, this was a reminder not to start screwing around. Sacrifices had been made for this. This hunt for the last parts of the omnium consciousness could not stop. Not even for a night on the town.

"Go back to sleep, James. Open reply to Psychos message."

Acknowledged_  
Talk to text enabled_  
Message text_

Michael,

Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. For me, the war isn't over yet. I'll join you when it is.

\--- Prophet

"End of line," Laurence finished, signaling for S.E.C.O.N.D. to send the reply. After, he opened the GPS tac-map on his HUD to find the fastest route to Gould's lab in New York. The time to track down another piece of Ceph was neigh.

Processing message_

He was seated in the woods about 6 kilometers from St Paul Minnesota, hell, could see a couple of skyscrapers if he squinted between the trees. If he could secure discreet transport in town to get to Green Bay, then he could sneak on board a boat on lake Michigan. Or he could swim, though if Alcatraz was fussing over nothing here, how would he react to cutting through the actual lake Michigan? Maybe he could send word ahead to Gould about what just happened.

Error_

'what?'

Error_  
Message not sent_

"Re-send message then," Prophet commanded. S.E.C.O.N.D. never had this problem before, what was going on with the suit today?  
Ceph hissed behind Prophets ears and then S.E.C.O.N.D. went into tactical mode. Laurence crouched up from his position and drew the predator bow.

Warning_  
Radar jammer Detected_  
All communication; disabled_

'shit'

Warning_  
Tactical mode; compromised_

"Compromised?!" Prophet grunted as he ducked behind a tree, cloaking himself.

Main targeting system; unavailable_  
Nanovision; unavailable_  
System reboot required_

"To hell with that!" Laurence snarled, looking through the tree line. "Not if I can find the jammer and destroy it!"

"That may be more trouble than ye think, friend."

Prophet spun around and fired off an arrow in the direction of the accented voice.

The arrow struck a tree about ten meters away. At about half that distance was a tall, medium to broadly built man wearing tan cargo pants, military grade boots, and a green pullover with the hood up. Beneath said hood, was a set of goggles that had three lenses reflecting green light. The man was ducking down and over to the left like he'd narrowly dodged the expended arrow; so, good reflexes. Or just lucky.

"Hoho ho," he laughed. "So yer the 'shoot first' kinda guy."

"Who are you?" Prophet demanded. "These woods aren't camp grounds, and even if they were, you don't look much like a happy camper."

"I could just about say the same thing about you, friend," the stranger snickered. Most likely the adrenaline from dodging a lethal projectile. "These ere woods aren't huntin grounds. Not legal ones at least."

"I will shoot your knees out if you don't explain who you are, or why you're here," Prophet growled, pulling another arrow back to his chin.

The stranger grinned widely, his shoulders shaking with more laughter. His accent made it sound like wind through a grate.

"Well, ye see 'ere, Prophet," he began. "I am what'cha call a 'mischief maker'."  
Then the stranger pulled the hood off his head, revealing the top part of his head and triclops goggles; specifically a pair of antennas perched on the sides of it.

'the jammer!'

New objective:  
Disable the jammer_

Perhaps guessing what was going through Prophet's head, the mischief maker then pressed his lips into a smug line.

"Me job 'ere, is to cause trouble fer you."

'poor, stupid guy'

"It's your unlucky day then, mischief maker," Prophet cautioned. "I recommend you deactivate the jammer you have and walk away now. If not," then the armored man came out of his cloaked form, enjoying the surprised twitch that the merc made when he saw him.

"Then your kneecaps getting shot off will be the least of your worries."

The mischief maker recovered from his initial shock and smirked again.

"I have reason to believe that this ere does worse te yer targeting system than others, so I think I'll take me chances," he explained, tapping on the goggles. "Unless you can live up to yer tall tales?"

'I'm going to knock that smug look off his stupid mug!'

Prophet let the arrow fly as the mischief maker dropped down, forcing the armored hunter to miss his shot.

'good reflexes indeed.'

Processing_

The mischief maker then crouched up and pulled out a low caliber pistol. To which Laurence replied by switching to speed mode, sidestepping into the thicket without feeling any bullets impact his person as three shots rang out. Before he could fire off another arrow, the man jumped up and took cover behind another tree. Laurence didn't see which one though, so he was left guestimating when the stranger spoke up again.

"So it's true that yer fast. Though anyone's pretty quick when they're moving in a straight line."

"Why are you here?" Prophet boomed as he stepped out of his own cover, scanning the area with his head on a swivel.

"I don't much care for repeatin' meself, friend," the mischief maker replied nonchalantly. "I'm 'ere to make trouble fer you!"

'fourth tree on the left, maybe?'

"But why me? What would you gain by giving me a hard time?" The armored hunter pressed, padding to the suspected tree and peering around it.

'Not that one'

"Yer a difficult man te find, Prophet," the merc contiued. "That kind of difficulty could be seen as a challenge by some."

Did the guy move again? It sounded like he was back in the clearing.

"So you're just doing this for the thrill of it? Just to see if you can?" Prophet peered back behind him and, sure enough, there he was, kicking the grass like he was bored.

"I said to some. Not necessarily meself." He continued, smiling.

'Fucker.'

Laurence felt a thread of his patience snap.  
If this guy really wanted trouble, then he'd found it.

"You know what?" Prophet growled, stepping out from the trees. "You're right. You've got a big mouth on you, a bit too big to be good for you. You're a mercenary."

The mischief maker backpedaled as Prophet made his approach, his smile turning sheepish.

"Aye. So yer clever too." The merc remarked, trying to keep face.

"You were hired to find me. By who?" The armored man pressured as he marched towards the self proclaimed 'mischief maker'.

"Sorry. I was paid handsomely fer my discretion, I'll not be naming names here." The hooded man replied as he continued his partial retreat. "Though while I'm thinkin a'bout it; do ye have Any Idea how hard it was ta find you?!"  
Then he splayed his arms out, dangling his pistol haphazardly from his trigger finger.

"Oh! The sleep I've lost! The shits I've not taken! But ye are a pretty buck, I'll give you that!"

And that was too much information, but at the same time, not enough.

"Fine, don't tell me! But I am going to need that jammer turned off some time today. You could do it, or I could."

"Is that a threat Prophet?" The mischief maker asked as he hopped over some crab grass, the trees above casting shadows over the top of his head.

"No." Prophet replied. "Just a reminder. I've already made my threats. "

"True that..." Then he glanced over his shoulder, grimacing.

"You gonna run?" The armored Hunter asked, letting a bit of false bravado into his voice. "You should know, I love it when they try to."

"And you should know," the mischief maker grinned as he gave a playful bow at the waist. "I love the chase too."

And with that, the mischief maker turned on his heels and dashed off into the thicket, leaping over a log as he went.

Laurence was a bit taken aback.

"He actually started running."

Nobody had really tried that before. Most of the time if anyone had a problem with him, they would've let him know right out the gate by trying to kill him or something.

But then again, today was already full of firsts.

So the only thing left to do was to keep his word.

Maximum speed_  
Maximum Power_


End file.
